


Liminal Break

by Ademimo



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (it'll make sense), Blind strip-tease, Boys In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, I tagged the rest of the FF but tbh they don't figure much, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Secret Identity, Sex in the Dark, Sharing a Bed, Snow, Tent Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and sexy ?, because of the cold of course, romantic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-07 21:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ademimo/pseuds/Ademimo
Summary: "Would you be satisfied if you could have a vague idea of what I look like ?"Johnny thinks it over. "Are you suggesting we play Guess Who ?"Spidey chuckles at the mention of the board game. They're close enough that Johnny can feel it shake his shoulders. It sends trills up the blond's chest."No, I meant..."A hand goes to grab Johnny's wrist —the one that is not thrown around Spidey— to guide his hand up outside of the covers and draw it closer to the vigilante until the tip of his fingers land on plush skin. Spidey lets go of him, and Johnny finds himself trailing against what he recognizes as a cheekbone."Oh," he marvels. "Yes, that's— that could work," and he feels a smile move Spidey's cheek.





	1. Today (Yesterday)

**Author's Note:**

> Me : Yeah, my next fic is gonna be gen :)  
Also me : _writes this on a random impulse._

The disappointment Johnny feels when the snow melts noiselessly around his feet instead of giving a satisfying _crunch_ cannot be expressed with words.

  
What is the point of this story, then, you ask ? After all, if the author cannot even spell it, you might as well close the book and put it back on its shelf. It might serve as combustible for a future fire, someday.

Fire. That's the whole of Johnny's issues.

It's burning up in his veins, as a constant fever does, but it refuses to numb his brain. He feels it threatening to lash out through his pores. Any second from now, it could melt off the skin of his companion of misfortune.

If it ever manages to reach New York's number one skittish hero, of course— ("Actually, I'm a vigilante").

"This is it. This is the day I die," the vigilante in question says, shivering violently enough for it to be audible even to Johnny's unenhanced ears.

"RIP to you, but I'm different," Johnny answers automatically.

"Cool. You'll get to mention how useless you were in my eulogy, then," Spidey snarks back.

"If you have the energy to complain, use it to walk faster," Johnny scolds, fueling the spirit of Sue. _My family is lost and could actually be dying from the cold,_ goes unsaid.

"Jesus. Alright, _dad_."

  
The duo continues to advance into the blank emptiness.

They have been trekking for what seems to stretch as a whole day, now. They were just going back from a space trip which had gone surprisingly well, considering the fact that they had taken Spider-Man along with them (and everyone and their (probably dead) mother in the superhero community knew about his rotten tendency to attract trouble). Of course, Johnny had barely expressed the sentiment as they neared Earth when the Quinjet chose this moment to malfunction and begin to stutter.

Long story short, part of it had fallen, and with it the two youngest of the group. They had no idea whether Sue's powers had been enough to maintain the Quinjet into the air or if it had crashed some miles away ; Johnny had been too busy trying to keep his flame on enough to slow his and Spidey's mad descent. Since he had gone nova a few hours before, it had not been easy. They landed roughly but luckily without injuries in an empty, snowy landscape.

Even the sky is whiter than it is gray.  


"Can't you carry me ?" Spider-Man suddenly blurts.

Johnny's brain ironically freezes. "What ?"

"Piggy-back ride," Spidey elaborates, undeterred. "I'll wrap my legs around your waist and you can like, heat up your body and be my personal heater..."

At Johnny's judgmental look, he adds defensively : "I weigh nothing and have no personal dignity left after last week."

Ah, yes. The Time Square Bathroom Incident. Despite himself and his resolution to stay as moody as a teenager forced to listen to his grandparents' diatribe about "the good old days" while their rat-dog yaps at him from under the table, Johnny feels the corners of his lips rising in amusement.

He hadn't seen it on live TV, but he'd watched the replays of it on Youtube. Rhino had thrown Spidey through the wall of a public bathroom stall, which had completely collapsed over the wall-crawler. This, in itself, was far from funny ; however, the cameras recording the glorious moment when Spidey emerged from the remains with his ass stuck into the toilet seat (which he had ripped from the ground instead of off his body) was fucking golden.

"Come on, I'm turning into a popsicle here," Spidey whines.

It's true. The only reason why his suit isn't covered in white powder anymore is because most of it has melted into the spandex. He looks seconds away from turning into ice.

"Fine," Johnny caves. "Climb on. Be my spider-monkey."

"'m not 'your' anything," Spidey mumbles, but he still wraps himself around Johnny's back and utters a sigh of relief as he presses his wet and cold spandex-clad body against as much of Johnny as he can.

Johnny is very ashamed of his blush. He doesn't even need to hold Spidey's thighs, as the vigilante sticks to him like velcro ; instead, he covers Spidey's freezing hands with his own palms.

  
He only realizes that he's been standing there for far too long when Spidey's voice, close to his ear, interrupts his trance.

"Am I squeezing too tight ? Can't you move ?"

"No, it's fine," he answers in a mechanical voice.

He starts walking again, leaving puddles of water and loud echoes of his heartbeat behind them.

"Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, dude," Spider-Man apologizes.

"It's fine, man. I was just making sure that my powers wouldn't go off by accident. Adjusting the power outage, you know," Johnny half-lies.

"Oh, yeah, I totally get that. I used to break so many doorknobs."

Johnny's interest is piqued. "Really ? And you still managed to hide your powers ?"

"Yup."

"How ?"

"I blamed it all on Par... I mean, on bad luck. I live in a rough area, the buildings aren't in a very good state, so the only weird thing about doors collapsing on themselves when you try to use them was that it happened to me extremely frequently over a short period of time. So yeah, my typically bad luck."

"Damn. I'm surprised people were willing to believe that. Though you _are_ a human disaster, so in retrospect..."

"Screw you, Matchstick. It was just easier to believe than my own strength being to blame. 'm not that big of a guy, and people don't tend to assume that their regular Joe has secret superpowers."

  
Johnny would like to disagree, for he can currently feel the muscles of Spider-Man's body. No one could believe that Spidey's civilian self didn't practice some kind of sport if they bothered to take one look at him. He may not have been shaped like a bodybuilder —all lean built and firm limbs— but you' have to be a fool to believe that he wouldn't be able to pack a stronger punch that most guys of his size.

"I think I just saw one of Sue's forcefields," Spidey suddenly interrupts his contemplation.

Johnny abruptly stops to stare at the direction Spidey is pointing to, despite knowing that...

"Her forcefields are invisible."

"I meant, some kind of reflection... like a light signal... Could she do that ?"

Johnny hesitates. There isn't much sun rays for his sister to use and her forcefields are far less reflective than a mirror. Yet, maybe...

"Let's check it out," he decides with a twinge of hope.

"Lead the way, Flamebrain," Spidey says from his koala-like perch on the blond.

  
Despite his proximity to the heat source that is the Human Torch, he is still shivering. Johnny tries to up his body temperature, but as soon as he does he is hit by a wave of dizziness and stumbles, nearly hurling them both in the snow.

"Wow ! You okay, Torchie ?" Spidey sounds concerned.

"Peachy," Johnny answers, going for tough and landing on faint.

"O-kay, so that was an obvious lie..."

As Spidey says this, he relaxes his grip on Johnny and starts to slip down deliberately. Johnny clings on his wrists, refusing to let go, so that Spidey ends up on his toes as Johnny pulls on his forearms —still wrapped around his neck— to get him back in place.

"Come on, I'm fine," he insists hotly, bending over to try to force the spider on his back again with the support of gravity.

"Oh my god, stop," Spidey protests, voice laced with exasperation. "You aren't well, I'm not gonna make you carry me for miles until you keel over—"

"And _your_ toes are going to freeze and fall off if you keep walking in the snow in your fucking slipper-boots, and that's only if the hypothermia doesn't kill you before that," Johnny snaps. "Just climb back on already."

"Not if that means you'll pass out," the stubborn fuck answers. "Your powers are out of control, regulating them in your state takes far too much focus and energy, it's—"

Johnny lets go of Spidey with uncharacteristic brusqueness. The web-spinner stumbles as he backs away.

"Fine. I've got an idea," Johnny says, and then he starts to strip. Spidey makes a strangled noise.

"What are you doing !?" he asks, almost panicked.

Johnny drops his shirt on the ground and throws his coat around Spidey's shoulders like a cape —who clings to it instinctively— before he takes off his pants, somehow managing not to get the legs stuck on his trainers.

"Now I don't have to force my body heat up so you'll feel it through my clothes, " he explains, throwing the jeans at Spidey who catches them one-handed. "You can climb back on."

Spidey looks frozen, both literally and figuratively. Johnny has to snap his fingers in front of his face to shake him out of it.

"Uh, okay," Spidey acquiesces numbly. "Shouldn't we... pick that up ?"

Johnny barely glances at his discarded tee-shirt. "It's not designer, I can just buy another one. It was like, thirty dollars."

_Thirty dollars dropped in the snow_, Spidey mumbles incredulously, but he still get on Johnny's back again.

This is not the way Johnny would have liked his first underwear backhug with Spidey to go (1 : Spider-Man is still fully clothed and 2 : Johnny is still wearing socks and shoes, which is the least sexy thing ever) but emergency situations call for emergency measures. He has a family to find ; he'll cry about ruined fantasies about his big fat crush later.

The wet spandex feels rough where it rubs against Johnny's skin (_basically everywhere_, his mind screams at him distantly. Johnny ignores it.). Oddly enough, Spidey isn't constantly shivering ; instead his body is coursed by shudders sporadically, as if it was at once unaware and having fits about his current state of coldness.

"What's wrong with your body ? It's like it can't decide how it feels," Johnny comments as he picks up a brisk pace.

"That's what's happening. Spiders can't thermoregulate, so... the different parts of my DNA are battling and sending conflicting signals to my brain about what it's supposed to do against the cold."

"You're so fucking weird," Johnny mumbles.

"Thanks, it's the radioactivity," Spidey says dryly.

Johnny snorts. Spidey huffs and squeezes Johnny's hand with the one that's not busy carrying Johnny's jeans (if they get back to civilization, he can't exactly wander around in his boxers). Reminded of the iciness of Spider-Man's hands, Johnny takes one of them between his palms and starts to rub it. Spidey moves his other one to the side of Johnny's neck, the warmest spot on his upper body, and the hero tilts his head obediently to trap the hand there and warm it up quicker.

"We're lucky that no one is around with a camera. We have to look like fools," Spidey muses aloud. Johnny wishes he knew what kind of expression he is sporting underneath his mask.

"I wonder what headlines _the Bugle_ would come up with," Johnny muses as he climbs a rather steep hill. "'Spider-Man selfishly exploits loved hero for his own benefit' ? 'Spider-Man confuses hot men with beautiful heaters ?'"

"How about : 'Local menace goes from spider to leech : which disgusting creature is next ?'"

"Oof. That's brutal. Spider-Leech would probably trend on Twitter, though."

"...You bet."

"...You do know what trending means, do you ?" Johnny asks with no small around of trepidation.

"Of course I do ! I live in a society too, you know."

"Riiight."

A few minutes later, they've reached the top of the hill. Johnny's shoulders sag at the sight.

There is no sign of his family here. Instead, the only thing of interest on this hill is the remnants of what must have been a camping trip —two tents (one torn up), a pile of snow-covered wood, and a disk suspended by a translucent nylon thread to a stake rammed into the ground, subjected to the whims of the wind. It must be what sent a light reflection their way.

"Well, shit."

Johnny doesn't even bother answering. A gush of wind chooses this moment to blow, and Spidey clings tighter to him. This spurs Johnny out of his defeated slump, blinking up at the skyline only to realize that the sun has started to fade behind it.

"You're going to die if we don't find any shelter for the night," he observes numbly. "Oh god, what if the others are unconscious ? They won't survive without my fire !"

"Hey, calm down. They were still on the ship, remember ? They're probably better off than us. They might even have landed in a sunny place. They are the FF, right ? Or the FT, I guess. Far from helpless, anyway."

Right.

Spidey is right.

Johnny forces himself to relax.

They decide to look into the tents for clues about their own whereabouts. One has obviously been scavenged by some kind of bird of prey already, if the tears and dropping are anything to go by, whereas the other one has miraculously been preserved from the outside world. There is even a package of biscuits beside the ratty mattress and its comforter, although it is half-eaten and the remaining snacks have started to mold.

Unfortunately, there is no bottle of water around, nor a map or even a grocery list that could indicate where they have ended up. As far as the heroes are concerned, they could be in Europe as much as in the Himalaya.

"I don't think we'll find better shelter than this," Spidey remarks. He has dropped the jeans in one corner of the tent along with their shoes, but he's put on Johnny's coat when they started rummaging through the campfire and still hasn't taken it off. It's odd to see him wear normal clothes over the Spider-Man suit.

"I guess not," Johnny agrees quietly. He sits cross legged and grimaces : "Gross. I don't trust the hygiene of wild campers."

"At least it doesn't smell like piss."

Johnny lets out a startled laugh. "You ever slept somewhere that smelt like piss ?"

Spider-Man takes a beat too long to answer as he gets under the comforter : "...No."

Well, that raises a few questions. Johnny slips his legs under the blankets. Next to him, Spider-Man takes off his coat to put it on the comforter as a second cover before pulling them to his chin. The blond wiggles until he is lying down besides Spidey ; not because he is ready to sleep, but rather to make sure that his friend doesn't silently freezes to death. The thin walls of the tent can't keep that much warmth inside.

"Seriously ? When ?" Johnny asks incredulously.

"Never," Spidey huffs. "I only sleep in clean, lavender-scented linens."

Johnny snorts mockingly. He has to make an effort not to go cross-eyed as he faces Spidey's mask. Their shelter was obviously meant for one person only, and the mattress is smaller than a twin bed. In other circumstances, that would have been a glaring problem, but here it allows Johnny to sling an arm and a leg around Spidey without it being weird. It's not his fault if survival requires sacrificing personal space, right ?

"I don't believe that," he says. "Come on, we aren't gonna sleep for hours. Entertain your old pal Torchie. Tell me the story, Webs."

"It's not storytelling material. It's not even joke material, there is no punchline. Drop it," Spidey grumbles.

Johnny whistles. "Damn. You're prickly suddenly. Sore spot ?"

"It's the overexposure to your charming personality. I have to compensate," Spidey teases in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Johnny can tell there is a remnant of bite in here. Despite this, he decides to go along.

"It's alright. Everyone feels self-conscious in my presence," he brags. "They just can't help it, before all this perfection and charisma."

Spidey's fingers briefly peek from under the covers to flick Johnny on the nose. "Prick." Johnny only smiles in response.

  
After a few seconds of restless shifting, Spidey whines. "This is so uncomfortable. I've never gone camping before, why do people do this ? It sucks."

"I think I might have went before, with my mom, but I can't really remember it," Johnny confesses, gazing over Spidey's head. He pulls him closer, and the vigilante stops wiggling. "All my memories of that time are really foggy. I'm not sure which ones are real and which ones are made up."

Spidey's voice has gone softer. "Yeah ?"

"Yeah."

The tent is quiet for a few moments, until Spidey breaks the silence "Mine, too. Can't recall what my parents were like."

Johnny is taken aback. Partly because of the information itself, but mostly because Spidey willingly shared it with him in the first place. He hopes Spidey cannot read what Johnny's sudden and effortless rise in temperature means (the blond isn't sure he can, either. His emotions are all over the place, so much that he can't get a grasp of them).

"I didn't know you were an orphan," is all he can answer, a bit lamely.

"I know," Spidey mutters. "It seemed a bit unfair for me to have this info about you and not... say anything."

There are plenty of things Spider-Man —hell, the whole world, or at least those who read the tabloids— is privy to about Johnny that he ignores about the vigilante. His name and face, for starters. But Johnny feels with acute certainty that calling him out on it in this rare moment of openness and vulnerability would be more than a social misstep.

"Did you grow up in the system ?" Johnny asks carefully.

If Spidey has no family, it might explain the way he always quips even in inappropriate situations, as if to cover up an insecurity (or even wariness?) around people. Johnny also remembers that in the early days, Sue had once described him as someone who seemed angry at the world (although he had gotten better the last few years, enough to be dubbed as "friendly" by the residents of Queens). It fits with the clichés around the rough upbringing of teenagers in foster care, or at least Johnny thinks.

Spidey, however, dismisses the hypothesis as soon as it has emerged.

"No. A couple of my relatives took me in. They raised me as their own. They were... I don't know what I did to deserve them. I mean, I probably used up all my luck when they adopted me, they had no obligation to do it, ya know ? And instead... yeah," he finishes awkwardly, either unwilling to get too emotional or just scared of sharing too much specific details.

Johnny hums. It's getting harder to see anything ; he can barely distinguish Spidey's outline in the dark. Only his white lenses still stand out, two creepy blobs floating in front of Johnny's face.

Typical. He gets a glimpse of the vigilante, and the next second he disappears from his sight. Johnny would light a flame, like a will-o-the-wisp, but he doesn't want to set anything on fire in the microcosm of the tent.

"Do you still live with them ?" he inquires.

Spidey takes ages to answer. For a moment, Johnny is worried that he pried too much.

"No," Spidey finally says. "I try to visit her regularly, but between my job, my studies and Spider-Man activities, it can get difficult."

"Her ?" Johnny catches on the pronoun change immediately.

Spider-Man nods. "Her husband died six years ago."

  
Ah.

Johnny tries to imagine what it would be like if Reed were to die. His sister's lover, this man who appeared suddenly and changed their life, who had cared about Johnny like he was his family even before him and Sue were dating. Or if his sister, who had been the one to raise him since he was a child (a mother figure as much as an older sister, really) were to leave Johnny behind and join their parents.

Six years ago ; that was about the time the Fantastic Four made their debut as heroes. About the time Spider-Man became Queens' vigilante.

"Shit," is all Johnny manages to whisper.

"You're telling me," Spidey says lifelessly. His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. He clears his throat and shifts into Johnny's arms, as if he was torn between the desire to pull away and the warmth provided by the Torch.

  
It may be Spidey confiding in him. It may be his family's current missing status. It may be their proximity, or the protection of darkness obscuring their faces, plunging them into a sort of liminal space-time. Whatever the reason, Johnny yearns to talk —the way most interviewers had wanted his sixteen-years-old self to, after they'd dug into his and Sue's past with their prying hands, eager to record his reaction to their most insensitive questions. He intertwines his legs with Spidey's, and the vigilante stops moving as Johnny begins to speak.

"I can't remember Mom at all. All I have are flashes, and I don't know if I constructed them from photos we have or from Sue's stories, or if they are legit memories. As for Dad, well, it's a bit of the same. According to my sister, he used to be a good father, but after Mom's death..." Johnny trails off significantly. "I can only remember him being crappy. Still," Johnny lets out a sour laugh, "he was better than Aunt Marygay. At least he cared, even if he was unable to _take care_ of us. My aunt just... didn't. She's the kind of person who is unable to put others' well-being before her own, you know ? Even for the smallest thing like, I don't know, eating the last cookie. So getting a kid dropped into her lap, suddenly, when she hadn't even bothered sending birthday cards before, well... You can picture how it went."

"Damn. I didn't know," Spidey says, breathless.

"Yeah. Didn't really feel like sharing this with the _New York Daily News_. Fucking vultures. Can you believe how much they invaded our privacy as soon as the FF went public ? They knew my father was in prison before I did."

A chocked noise comes from Spidey. "What !? How !?"

"My sister hid it from me, told me he died instead ; she thought she was protecting me. Fat good it did," Johnny spits out bitterly. He feels immediately guilty for it. It was not her fault if she'd had to decide what to say to her little brother. She had been a teenager at that time, too ; far too young to handle family secrets. "I had to learn it from the tabloids instead. It added a lot of tensions to our debut. I mean, along with Ben's condition, and how Reed beat himself over it..."

  
The silence stretches on, until Spidey sighs.

"It's crazy, I always thought that you guys had it easy. I mean, from an outsider's perspective, it seemed like you four were the perfect superhuman team, the dream family. Rich, popular, powerful, united..."

"Reed believed that we had to sell it this way," Johnny confessed. "We had just turned into freaks. Being like some kind of royal family was the best way to ensure that we wouldn't get treated like the X-Men or— well— like you."

"He wasn't wrong."

"I know, but..." Johnny struggles to find the right words. "Sometimes it's kind of hard to make the difference, ya know ? The way the public sees me and who I actually am... It gets, uh, blurry. It's like I'm my own reality show. And I can't talk about it with Sue, because she would worry and fret and it's not like she can do anything about it. Reed would feel guilty about depriving me of my childhood or whatever. And Ben has it worse than me, obviously. And besides, they were all adults when it all began, it's different."

"You can talk to me," Spidey blurts out.

It snaps Johnny out of his self-pitying fest. Spidey's spandex is coarse against his skin. Even his lenses are blending in the dark, now, but there is no ignoring the proximity of his masked head, only a few centimeters from his own.

"You got enough problems without me treating you like my therapist," Johnny drawls hesitantly.

Spider-Man scoffs. "Excuse me ? Our friendship practically sprouted from _me_ using the pretext of building a car to have therapy sessions with you. If I can tell you about the shitshow that is my life, so can you."

"Oh," Johnny says.

"It goes both way, right ?" Johnny can feel Spidey's ankle curling around his as he prattles on. "I mean, who else is gonna understand what being a young, dashing orphaned hero with freaky powers is like ?"

Johnny's low chuckle makes his chest vibrate against Spidey's. "Yeah, you're right. Though I'm not sure the term 'dashing' is applicable to you, Webs."

Spidey lightly slaps his shoulder in retaliation. "Shut up. I'm devilishly handsome. The world doesn't know what it's missing. The only crime I'll confess to _the Bugle_ is depriving New-York of my gorgeous face."

"'s not like I could tell either way," Johnny grumbles.

It comes out more moodily than he had intended to and puts a damper on their conversation. It feels awkward until Spider-Man carefully says :

"Thank you for letting me in. Despite this. I'm sorry we couldn't find your family today. My powers are basically useless in an empty field."  
  
At first Johnny thinks that his friend is trying to switch topics, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out how the subject of the mask and his family (whose attitude towards Spidey was so starkly different from the rest of NYC) are related.

"Nah. You were right earlier. They have super-powers plus Reed's brain. They'll find us before we get on their tracks."

"Hope we don't starve by then."

"Pssht. They'll be here by noon tomorrow."

"My worries are still valid."

"You can always eat me up, babe," Johnny winks. He isn't sure Spidey can see it, so he runs his fingertips across his friend's hip to emphasize his statement.

"Careful, I might take you up on that offer, and then what would you do ?" Spidey playfully flirts back.

Johhny starts snickering. "Hahaha... and then what ?" he quotes in his best imitation of a fuckboy's voice.

"Eggplant emoji."

  
They chortle like dumb kids having a sleepover for a while, chipping in to add a nonsensical crack in-between laughter, the tension of the day finally drifting from their tired bodies. By the time they calm down, black is the only thing Johnny can see, even when he strains his eyes. It must be a moonless night outside.

"Hey, we should probably try to sleep," he suggests.

Spidey agrees, and they manage to quiet down. Johnny closes his eyes and attempts to empty his mind enough for it to shut down and let him pass out until morning.

Predictably, it doesn't work.  


_It should be weirder than this_ is the thought that occurs to Johnny, staring wide into the emptiness with hunger gnawing at his stomach. He is cuddling with his best friend, has been for hours. For the sake of his well-being, but still. Platonic bros are biologically unable to casually hug for longer than about 6.4 seconds. That's a scientific fact. They should not have been able to laugh like idiots or to discuss their childhood in their predicament. They certainly should not have been able to go to sleep this way.

Scratch that. They aren't. Spidey keeps moving around, bumping into Johnny, fussing with the comforter and being a general pain in the ass while sighing with increased frustration. Johnny can't keep his own rising irritation at bay for very long.

"Hey, you still cold or what ?"

"Uh ?" Spidey asks distractedly. "Nah, you're a good heater."

"Then why are you so restless ?"

"It's the suit," Spidey groans. "It's normally too uncomfortable to sleep in, and the fact that it got wet and dried so quickly makes it even worse."

"Then take it off."

A pause. "What ?"

"What ?" Johnny asks back, defensive. "I'm in my boxers, too. It's no big deal."

"It makes it an even bigger deal," Spidey counters.

"Oh, don't be a baby. It's just for one night," _unfortunately_, "your manliness will survive."

Spidey considers this for a moment. Next thing Johnny knows, the comforter raises as Spidey sits up to take off his suit. Since the mattress is so small, the only way they could have a little space was to lie on their side ; now that Spidey has turned, his hip is pressed against Johnny's front almost painfully. He must begin with the gloves ; Johnny swallows as he feels a small piece of clothing fall next to his face, followed by a second one.  
They are snatched away as quickly as they came, probably so Spidey can put them on his side of the tent. A series of clinks indicates that the web-shooters have been put aside, too. Next is the upper part of the suit —the spandex rubs harshly against his skin as it gets pulled off, and now he can feel Spidey's waist shift against his belly. He hears the shirt swipe against the roof of the tent as Spidey's swift movement makes a whiff of his scent go in Johnny's direction, sending tingles up his nose and down his spine. Then, Spidey leans over to get rid of his tights.

They are still close enough that Johnny can feel the slim fingers brushing against his belly (he can't prevent his muscles from tensing against their tickling presence) as they go to slip inside Spidey's waistband ; and then down, down, passing far too close to Johnny's private parts for comfort as Spidey rolls the spandex slowly.  
The pitch black enveloping them heightens the sensitivity of Johnny's hearing and it latches on the noise of Spidey stripping down. Each of his movements create a rift in the atmosphere that hit and penetrate Johnny to his core.  
Getting Spidey's legs bare is an agonizingly long process, as if hurrying would be akin to playing with fire, some kind of hazardous endeavor —maybe the harsh weather irritated Spidey's skin, made it more sensitive.  
  
Yet, soon, the uncomfortable friction of spandex against Johnny's legs is replaced by the curves of the knuckles pulling it off, followed by the liberated skin of Spidey's thighs. Their caress is smooth as they shift and slide against him, like running water descending on Johnny's body. He has to resist the impulse of pressing back, and he keeps on being still as if he were obeying some untold rule, as if any move from him would break the spell. He barely dares to breathe and yet he is more conscious of each of Spidey's inhales and exhales than of his own. Spidey's hands slip the spandex off his calves, one leg sneaking between Johnny's own and up the blond's inner thigh as the vigilante bends his knees sideway so he can roll the suit off his feet under the comforter. Despite this, the covers aren't protecting half of his body from the biting cold anymore, and a violent shudder shakes him as he throws the suit at the other end of the tent to join their muddy shoes.

_  
Don't pop a boner, don't pop a boner, don't pop a boner,_ Johnny chants internally as Spidey settles back beneath the comforter. It's fine. He can deal with the teasing skin to skin contact. He can deal with feeling the shivers coursing through Spidey's body and grazing against his own like a purring cat. Or a vibrator. No. Bad image. Stop this.

  
Should he take Spidey back into his arms, or would that be weird ? Wouldn't it be weirder if he refused to now that the both of them are practically naked ? He is just a fire dude keeping his friend warm, right ? It would be weird to stop now when he'd had no problem with it before. It could betray his not very catholic thoughts. Less than a hard-on digging into Spidey's hip would, though.

  
He tries to take a deep, calming breath, and promptly chokes on his own saliva.

"Dude," Spider-Man's voice says as Johnny coughs up his lungs. "You okay ?"

"Yeah," Johnny answers, strained. "In— a minute."

"You're getting germs all over my mask," Spidey complains.

Johnny has to clear his throat multiple times before responding, unshed tears burning his eyes.

"You could always—" _cough_ "—take it off, too."

"It kind of ruins its purpose—"

"'m not trying to get your secret identity. I dunno if you have nocturnal vision or what, but I can't see you, Spidey. I promise I won't peek if I wake up before you do."

For a moment Spidey doesn't answer and Johnny has no idea whether that means he's considering it or has automatically dismissed it.

"Guess you're right," the vigilante says suddenly. Johnny holds his breath, but Spidey makes no move.

"UUuh... So you're gonna do it, or...?"

"I don't want to get my arms back out of the comforter," Spidey admits. "It's fucking freezing."

Oh, right. So Johnny _should_ cuddle back with him. He encases him once more into his arms and lets Spidey entangle their legs. This is less weird than spooning, right ? Right.

"I could pull it off for you," Johnny offers. "If -if that's cool with you." Damn that stutter was awkward.

"It is," Spidey answers.

At least one of them sounds confident about this dumbass situation. Johnny is glad to know that he is the only one currently getting his mind blown.

  
(not.)

  
Johnny lets his palms drag up Spidey's back until it reaches his nape, the rustle created by the movement under the comforter almost obscene in the silent night. He feels for the rim of the Spider-Man mask and has to take a deep breath in before he musters enough guts to slip his fingers underneath.

He enjoys the sensation of running his fingers through Spidey's hair as he pulls the mask up (He can't see it, but he is certain it's auburn ; he'd caught a glimpse of it when the spandex got battle-worn, once). He doesn't go at it brashly, giving Spidey the option to back out, the time to raise his head slightly to help the movement.

It's over anticlimactically quick. Johnny lays the mask carefully where he guesses the gloves to be, next to Spidey's head, and place his hands back under the comforter. It's getting warm again under there ; Johnny's embarrassment must help somehow.

"Well, good night," he blurts.

"Night," says Spidey's unmuffled voice.

But Johnny does not close his eyes. He finds himself unable to, with his mind restlessly running over the past years like it's flashback time or something.

"Are you ever going to show it to me ?"

He does not bother using a low voice despite the long wordless minutes that have gone past. He knows Spidey is as awake as he is, the vigilante has been trying to warm his feet against Johnny's calves by rubbing them against him for a while now. He does not need to clarify his question. Both of their thoughts are on the same page, it seems.

"Not if I can prevent it," Spidey admits quietly. "My identity —it's better if no one knows it."

_Is it, though ?_ Johnny wonders.

"Uh," he huffs with a rueful smile. "So I'll never know if you're really as handsome as you pretend, then."

Spidey laughs, but it does not sound very happy. "I guess not."

Usually, he would have added a comment to distance himself from the seriousness of the discussion, such as "_but hey, mystery is sexy"_, or _"you'll just have to dream it up, Torchie"_, but this time he doesn't. Either he is too tired to keep up the his devil-may-care attitude, or he is doing that thing when he gets stuck in his own musings for several minutes until Johnny throws a fry or a jab at him to jerk him back to the same world as them common mortals.

"Would you be satisfied if you could have a vague idea of what I look like ?"

Johnny thinks it over. "Are you suggesting we play Guess Who ?"

Spidey chuckles at the mention of the board game. They're close enough that Johnny can feel it shake his shoulders. It sends trills up the blond's chest.

"No, I meant..."

A hand goes to grab Johnny's wrist —the one that is not thrown around Spidey— to guide his hand up outside of the covers and draw it closer to the vigilante until the tip of his fingers land on plush skin. Spidey lets go of him, and Johnny finds himself trailing against what he recognizes as a cheekbone.

"Oh," he marvels. "Yes, that's— that could work," and he feels a smile move Spidey's cheek.

  
He takes his time mapping out Spider-Man's face. He starts with the outline of it, caressing down to the arch of his jawline -surprisingly sharp- to his chin, spending a few seconds here trying to picture what the indentations he's perceiving can look like. They are not overly pronounced, so that means the vigilante's chin probably doesn't jut out much, and there is no hint of a double chin as far as he can tell.

Once he is done with this area, he trails his fingers back from where they came from until he can run them across Spidey's cheekbone once more. He can't tell if it's well defined or not, not when he barely dares applying pressure to his touch. Collecting a few drops of courage, he shifts his hand so his palm hovers slightly above Spidey's face. His fingers end up in Spidey's hair, near his temple, navigating through bangs and circling the shell of an ear (not pierced) as Johnny's thumb brushes Spidey's cheek, one time, two times, three times. At this point Johnny does not know whether it is a way to figure out their fullness or a barely concealed caress.

During all this time, Spidey has given no indication of his thoughts despite Johnny being ready to jerk away at the first hint of discomfort. He's given him the freedom of exploring as he wishes, going as far as to shift lightly to accommodate the blond's hand as it runs across his face.

Still, Johnny's does not dare cupping his face in his palm, and so he contents himself with going up to thumb over the thinner, more fragile skin under Spidey's eyes. It must tickle him, for they flutter under his touch, sweeping over the tip of Johnny's thumb until they finally rest against it when Spidey closes his eye.

Johnny immediately brings his index out of the mess of not-that-shortly-cut hair to trace the line of Spidey's eyelashes. The rest of his fingers then join in to map out his eyelid and evaluate the curve of his brow. He estimates that Spidey's eyes are bigger than his own, although their color remain a mystery, and that his eyebrows are rather defined, even though he can't exactly tell their thickness.

After a while he switches direction and goes to his forehead (wide) and the bangs he finds here (how does he usually style them ? Swept to the side ? Backward with gel ? Or is it a sideway fringe ?), then down to brush the bridge of his nose (roman or greek nose ?). Then he slides to his philtrum (no mustache to be found here, and he has no beard either —is it cleanly shaved, or can't he grow facial hair ?) and finally, he lingers near his mouth. Johnny scolds himself for his brief pause (it _has_ to be telling ; he should be invisible, and yet he's never felt so transparent). He doesn't feel Spidey's exhales anymore ; he's stopped breathing.

  
At length Johnny touches Spidey's lips —carefully, as if he could burn them.

He caught glimpses of them before, but it had always been too brief for him to really keep their image burned in his retina. What he figures out with certainty as he caresses them (and cannot resist applying a bit of pressure in different spots that make Spidey's breath hitch) is that they are plump. Downright pouty.

It takes a few seconds for Johnny to realize that he isn't the one pressing his fingers against Spidey's mouth. Instead it's the wall-crawler who is leaning in, until Johnny has to move his hand away to the side so the back of it doesn't collide against his own face.

"Johnny," Spidey whispers.

Johnny leans forward too, carefully, and when Spidey doesn't pull back he fills the absence of his fingers with a touch of his lips.

Spidey exhales deeply through his nose as they seal their lips together, like he is letting go of every last one of his burdens in one sigh. For a long and blissful moment they simply kiss like this, softly, savoring the taste of each other. They could have spent an hour more discovering each other's mouths, even the most gentle touch intoxicating, as if they'd been starved for it ; but then Spidey slips a leg above Johnny's and buries one hand into his hair, and they're embracing. Johnny uses his hand cupping Spidey's face to deepen their kiss ; their lips part and Spidey's tongue goes to softly explore the inside of Johnny's mouth. His other arm hugs the vigilante's lower back to bring their bodies closer. Their legs curl together like they're trying to fuse.

They start slowly thrusting against each other, seeking friction all over, yearning for the other's skin. The slick of their lips isn't enough, will never be enough, and Johnny knows he is getting harder fast but he also knows that the hardness against his thigh isn't his —it's Spidey's, because he makes Spidey feel the same. And so he doesn't even have to think before slipping his hand in Spidey's underwear and pulling it down (he hasn't been thinking for a while, to be honest, only following his instincts, he is without care, he is both floating and has never been as grounded as now). Spidey mirrors his movements and Johnny doesn't even have to wiggle and bend his legs to take it all the way off -Spidey catches it with between his toes and slides it all the way to his feet along with his own boxers so they can get lost in the comforter, irrelevant and forgotten.

  
It's nothing like he's dreamed of but it's everything he's ever wanted ; instead of going faster his heartbeats are getting louder and throb harder against his chest. One of his hand is in Spidey's hair again and the other keeps going from his back to his buttock, whereas Spidey's palms seem intent on mapping out every part of Johnny they can reach indiscriminately, sapping on his heat. Johnny's cock is rubbing against Spidey's and his lower stomach, and they can't get as close as they wish without it turning painful.

They've been alternating between kissing and just breathing into each other mouths for a while now, and Johnny has to raise himself up just enough so he can go down on Spidey.

  
When he goes beneath the cover, he gets overwhelmed by the smell of Spidey, not yet permeated by sex and sweat —though it is not a perfume either, but a scent that is particular to his body, something belonging to his skin. He stops when he reaches the tip of his erection, but Spidey hand goes into his hair to push him even lower, guiding his lips as he parts his thighs, and Johnny understands his intent.

He takes his time coating Spidey's inner thighs with his spit, licking and drooling over them. They flex under his tongue's ministrations. Spidey's fingers, tangled in his hair, clutch at it sometimes before they relax once more. When he believes that he has done as much as he could, Johnny wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and goes back up to greet Spidey with a lingering kiss on his lips before the vigilante turns his whole body away from him, shifting to adjust their position so his back faces Johnny's chest. Johnny presses against him, sliding lower, until he can finally slip between Spidey's wet thighs.

They pause for a second ; then Johnny starts to thrust, slowly, and licks his own hand to stroke Spidey at the same pace, growing hotter under his ministrations. Spidey throws his head backwards, his whole being seemingly focused on feeling _more_, as his hands seek the arm Johnny has slipped under his body to wrap around his chest. One of them finds his wrist and the other intertwines their fingers, palms pressing together. Johnny is in the perfect position to nuzzle the underside of his jaw, to find his pulse with his lips and to start sucking there.

Spidey's pants are like bells to his ears and yet Johnny very may be melting into him, lava flowing through his veins while delightful thighs tightens around him. At some point, embers of light flicker across the skin of Johnny's arms, but he cannot even distinguish them among the stars peppering his closed eyelids. Somehow the fact that they're holding hands is more intimate than the hickeys Johnny is leaving on Spidey's neck, more than the sensual pleasure of slick skin rubbing against him and the care he puts into the twist of his wrist as he works Spidey up. Sometimes Spidey's chest stutters against Johnny's forearm, and he clutches Johnny's hand tighter, the action so sweet that Johnny's heart lurches and aches in a mix of desire and fondness. They move languidly, unhurried, for they know they have the whole night and miles of white-blanketed hills of silence just for the two of them.  


There is no way Spider-Man doesn't know ; no way he could confuse it with pure lust ; but now _Johnny_ also know, because Spidey is pushing back against him with just as much unbridled affection, even, perhaps, with a twinge of desperation —which makes Johnny think that (maybe) Spidey is as afraid of Johnny ceasing to see him as Johnny fears the day Spidey would stop showing himself to him.  


Johnny is the one to come first as Spidey clenches around him one last time. He shakes as his climax overcomes him and squeezes the other man against him, letting out a muffled moan against his neck. By the time Spidey follows him, slumping against the mattress as he rides out his orgasm between Johnny's fingers, he has regained most of his awareness.

  
Johnny blinks into the darkness. He wipes his hand as far away from them both as he can. Spidey's hair is tickling his nose. His shampoo is nearly scentless, but Johnny can tell there are undertones of honey in it. Johnny's limbs are heavy, his marrow still burning with the remnants of tingles.

Spidey turns into his arms to hug him, nuzzling his cheek against Johnny's face. The only way he could convey his contentment any better would be by adding a purr to his snuggles.

Johnny is filled with an unnamed emotion, and drained of everything else.

He falls asleep.


	2. Tomorrow (Today)

Johnny's pupils don't get the time to acclimate themselves to the light before their view is covered by a soft palm.

His heart jumps into his chest, but he recognizes Spider-Man's voice immediately and calms down as the vigilante speaks.

"Sorry. Can you give me a minute ?"

Memory comes back to him with the touch of Spidey's naked skin against his eyelashes.

"Sure," he agrees, closing his eyes.

"Thanks," the wall-crawler murmurs. His hand pulls away from Johnny's face, and the covers shift as he starts rummaging through the tent.

"You can look now," he says after a while.

His voice is muffled, so Johnny already knows what to expect when he opens his eyes. Sure enough, Spidey is wearing his mask —and nothing else, although he has started slipping on a web-shooter. There is undeniable proof of their acts in hues of reds and purples on one side of his neck. The light filtering through the thin walls of the tent is yellow and warm. It tinges the inside of their shelter and the color of Spidey's skin in sepia.

With another _click_, the second web-shooter is snapped into place, and Spider-Man pulls on his gloves.

Johnny doesn't really have clothes to put on, aside from his underwear, which is buried at the end of their comforter. So he doesn't feel the need to start dressing up. Instead he can just watch Spidey.

He notices that he has a beauty mark so small it's barely visible in the space between two of his ribs. Johnny feels the impulse. He obeys it.

Spidey squawks and jumps at the poke, and a split second later he twists to slap Johnny in the face with the spandex shirt in his hand.

Johnny laughs.

They don't talk about it. They don't feel the need to.

* * *

Spidey was right, in the end.

They only have to trek for a few hours before a low hum alerts them of a familiar engine getting closer, and soon enough the Fantastic Four Quinjet pulls up next to them. Ben teases them relentlessly —Johnny for his ridiculous get-up composed of boots and boxers, and Spidey for needing to be carried on his back like a "fragile little bug" to avoid freezing on the spot.

They end up being very far from New York indeed.

Russia. Oh, well.

They have supplies on the ship, so Johnny and Spidey are finally able to quench their thirst and feed themselves on the flight back.

Johnny suggests taking the opportunity to visit St Petersburg. Sue argues a bit about the wiseness of lingering in a foreign country that has historically not been very welcoming to Americans, not to mention that they've clearly crossed the frontier illegally. Spidey (still warped in Johnny's coat) accuses her of being a brainwashed capitalist. Johnny isn't sure he is fully joking ; sometimes Spidey goes on rants about student debt, evil corporations and greedy landlords that make him wonder.

It turns out that the wayward trio hasn't slept. They were up all night trying to fix the Quinjet, and since they'd had no way to know whether Spidey and Johnny's rather brutal fall had left them without injuries, they'd decided that it was better to seek them out immediately. Now that the urgency of the situation has faded, however, Reed feels it unwise to go on and cross Europe and the Atlantic Ocean in their sleep-deprived state. Moreover, while Johnny could pilot the engine, they're still a unsure of what caused its malfunction in the first place and it is possible that it would break down once more before landing home.

So they end up deciding on a St Petersburg break.

They manage to find a building with a flat rooftop to land on. Of course, as soon as they hit the streets, they get weird stares : despite their civilian attires, there is no hiding the size of Ben under his trenchcoat and hat (the most suspicious outfit of all times) nor the Spider-Man's mask under the vigilante's winter clothes and beanie. No one arrests them, though, so there is that. The whole world has gotten used to weirdos in spandex, apparently.

Their intent is to spend the rest of the afternoon and the night here and to go back to America early on the next day. They sit at a cafe and Reed and Sue go through a list of hotels on their phones (Johnny's is charging with a portable battery that he fetched from their ship) while they wait for their drinks.

"Look at this one," Sue is saying. "It's right next to the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, that's the one we absolutely have to see, dear..."

Johnny peeks from over her shoulder and points at the hotel right below her pick on the list.

"Nah. This one. It has a _spa_."

A waitress comes with their coffees, and the FF along with Spidey immediately sip at them, relieved to finally get a warm energy drink into their system. Johnny frowns at Spidey's double expresso. _Yuck_. Can't he be a decent person and take a mocha for once ?

Speaking of the vigilante, Johnny notices that there is a pinch to his lips (the ones Johnny tasted yesterday, he is reminded with a start at the sight of them) as the team continues to discuss their housing options. After a sip of his cup, he finally pitches in.

"How about an airbnb ?"

Ben laughs. "Why bother with that ? Trust me kid, hotels are simpler. No funny business, and once you reach four stars there ain't bad surprises either."

This seems to only make Spidey's discomfort grow.

"I, uh, I don't have a lot of cash on me. Or a credit card. Right now."

Reed blinks at him, surprised.

"What are you talking about ? I'm paying. You are a guest on this trip, Spider-Man."

"But—"

"Yeah, trip bill is on Mr Fantastic," Ben interrupts before Spidey can refuse. "You ain't special, Web-head."

To be fair, that's not exactly right. The FF have a bank account dedicated to their common travel expenses, each one of them contributing to it, in addition to their personal account. Reed just happens to be handling the credit card right now. Spidey does not need to know that, though, or he would insist to pay his share, and the Fantastic Four have gathered by now that he isn't secretly a famous billionaire.

"Still..." Spidey hesitates.

Johnny rolls his eyes. "If it bothers you, you could always room with me."

Sue's head jerks up from her phone so fast that Johnny actually gets worried for her neck. He takes an innocent sip of his mocha.

"This way, there won't be too much additional costs."

Spidey considers him for a moment. The whole table is silent, as if the family was watching an extraordinary set of events unravel in front of them.

"Yeah, sounds good," the vigilante finally declares. "Thank you, then," he nods towards Reed.

"...Should I book for three king-sized beds, then ?" Sue asks.

"Yup, that's fine," Spidey says.

Johnny hums his approval. His stare is still fixed on Spidey's half-masked face through the fumes of his coffee cup. Sensing this, Spidey's white lenses turn towards him. He gives him a small smile. Not a smirk, not a grin, a genuine quirk of his lips that Johnny answers with one of his own almost subconsciously.

Nothing has changed except for the absence of guardedness between them.

Upon reflection, maybe it means that everything has changed. It has definitely shifted, anyway. In place of the bouncing, restless energy that used to pull and push between their bodies, there is a sense of appeasement and warmth.

He tries to get back to the conversation between his sister and brother-in-law, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a puzzled Ben, whose gaze is shifting from Johnny to Spidey. _Oops_.

"Whazza deal with you two ?"

"We had a bonding moment," Spidey begins, and Johnny nearly snorts his coffee out of his nostrils. What a euphemism.

"I cradled him in my arms," Johnny continues on the same tone. They both dissolve into snickers, much to the confusion of the people around them.

Of course, they count on the remaining members of the FF being too old and not meme-privy enough to get the reference. Johnny doesn't even know where it's from either, but he has seen the quote used in enough different contexts to gather the general gayness of it.

"So what, you frolicked in the snow is what yer saying ?" Ben deadpans.

Johnny regains his composure. "Don't be ridiculous," he dismisses as he downs the last of his coffee (because after all they didn't, technically). "Well, the Quinjet isn't gonna repair itself on its own. Don't let this dumb pile of rocks choose my room ! You coming, Spidey ?"

"I don't care for vehicles."

"As if that's ever stopped you before," Johnny jabs.

"Sorry for wanting to play tourist instead of fiddling with grease."

"'Fiddling with grease ?'" Johnny sputters in indignation. "Listen, you don't get the art which goes into—"

"Yeah, yeah," Spidey cuts him off. Disrespectful. "See you later, Flamebrain."

"You know, we're mainly going to nap today. You'll see more of the city if you go with Johnny to shop for mechanic parts than if you stay with us," Sue intervenes.

"Oh, right. Well then, I'll bless you with my company, Firefly."

"Can't believe this day has finally come," Johnny says, rising up from his seat.

"Me neither," Reed mumbles nonsensically.

"Send me the location when you're at the hotel," Johnny yells as he and Spidey start to walk away.

"Will do," Sue waves.

"And make sure it has a spa !"

* * *

It is actually refreshing to walk in St Petersburg. Not only do the pastel buildings look like a gingerbread daydream, but people simply do not care about the Human Torch here. Foreign heroes are nearly anonymous in other countries, and without his flame, there is nothing about Johnny that stands out (aside from his handsome features and killer sense of fashion, of course).

"Let's stop here," Spidey says.

Johnny squints at the shopwindow. "That's a convenience store. We won't find ship parts in it, and I mean, I need to have a look at it before we can even buy anything—"

"I'm not looking for ship parts."

Well.

Okay, then.  
  


* * *

  
It turns out that there isn't much to fix on the Quinjet, so Johnny contents himself with making a customary check before they get down from the roof once more. Reed did a spectacular job on it, so much that Johnny cannot even see where the initial problem was. Come to think of it, Reed never doubted his own abilities, ever. He must have known that the Quinjet was fixed. Maybe he just really wanted his nap in a luxurious hotel room.

They decide to explore the city a little.

They see the canals, the colorful facades, even this church with a weird name Sue told them about. They get Russian pastries which names they can neither spell nor pronounce and they go up a spiral staircase in Saint Isaac’s Cathedral to get a skyline view of the city from its colonnade. Johnny has seen many things during his travels, but he is still impressed by the sheer size and beauty of St Petersburg ; Spider-Man, who almost never gets out of New York, is vibrating with excitement next to him.

"I'm having a hard time resisting the urge to go up the dome right now," Spidey admits, leaning against the barriers as he gazes at the city. "Everything is so much... lower."

"Yeah, there is much more breathing space than at home," Johnny observes.

Spidey hums. "Anywhere you look is like a postcard. It's so pretty. Still, I think it would stress me out to live here."

Johnny leans his elbows besides him, bumping their hips together. Spidey fits himself against him without missing a beat, as if they'd always done this.

"Why ?" Johnny asks, a bit surprised by the vigilante's declaration. He takes out his phone to snap a picture of the view.

"I don't know, I'm just not used to it. And it makes it more complicated for me to go around."

Right. A spider would be more at ease in a confined space, one with a lot of heights and structures to build its web on and crawl around. Makes sense.

"Besides, New York is New York."

And also, Spidey might be a bit chauvinistic. Right, can't forget he is a _100% bred_ New Yorker.

Johnny switches to selfie mode and slips an arm around Spidey's shoulders. "Pose," he says, and the vigilante indulges him with a huff, two gloved fingers peeking out from behind Johnny's head like red antennas. Johnny saves the photos to upload later on his social medias. No need to advertise their current absence to New York City. He lets go of Spidey, but the latter loops their arms together as Johnny taps away at his phone screen.

"They've got such awesome perches, though. Look at that."

Johnny follows the direction Spidey is pointing to until he spots a distant golden spire. He grins wolfishly to the vigilante. "Race you ?"

Spidey pinches his forearm. "We're supposed to be discreet, normal tourists, dummy."

Johnny snorts. "You couldn't be discreet if you tried, Web-Head."

"You'd be surprised," Spidey mutters, slipping away from the barriers and Johnny's hold.

As they walk down Nevsky Prospect, the main street full of shops and other wonders, they find a cafeteria-restaurant where they manage to get dinner without Spidey having to take off his mask to reassure the patrons.

("It's good, but it's not worth Ray's pizzas."

"Will you ever shut up about those ?"

"Not until you bring the right ones to our dates, Flamebrain."

"I did bring Ray's last time !"

"Wasn't the right Ray's. Mine's better, trust me."

"Oh, for fu—")

It's nice, for once, to have the evening for themselves without being interrupted by a supervillain or an alien invasion. They're good at being together.

They get out with the satisfaction that comes with stomach well-filled and the weariness of a day spent roaming around and craning their necks to avoid missing any details. Bone-deep exhaustion is dragging their feet when they check in at the hotel, but it evaporates as soon as they step into their room.

"Our bathroom has a jacuzzi."

"Yes."

"Our room has a jacuzzi. A bath that does bubbles and massages."

"It sure does."

Spidey stares.

"This is the definition of hubris."

"So... you don't want to get in the jacuzzi ?"

"Fuck you, my thighs have been sticky for like twenty hours." _Oh my god_. "I'm going in."

"Hold on," Johnny shouts, eying the silk robes suspended to the clothing hanger on the bathroom door.

They have wide waistbands around belt rings. Johnny seizes one of them and grins at Spidey.

"Mind if I join you ?"

* * *

  
Johnny strips down and goes into the bathtub first. It was built with a steep so its user could either lie down on one side or stand on another like in a pool. Johnny chooses to make himself comfortable in the deep waters, back against the edge of the tub. Spidey is the one who ties the makeshift blindfolds around his head, and a minute later the water levels rise and lap at Johnny's skin as a second body joins him into the jacuzzi. Spidey has to fiddle for a moment with the buttons before he settles on a function he likes, soft bubbles swirling around them.

Johnny tracks his progress towards him with the couple of _splashes_ and the sound of trickling water coming from his front.

He expected Spidey to either start by washing himself or by jumping Johnny's bones immediately (what ? Johnny knows what he looks like naked) but instead, the vigilante drapes himself over him with a moan of contentment that has disappointedly very little sexual undertones in it. He rests his head against the dip between Johnny's neck and shoulder, face turned away from him and wet hair pressing against Johnny's pulse. It's distressingly soft for someone who spent the last two days under a mask. His jaw shifts against Johnny's collarbone as he speaks.

"This is my first bath that's not taken into the Hudson in literal _ages_, Matchstick. This is _heaven_. I'm never getting out of it."

"That's gross on so many levels," Johnny says bluntly. "Don't touch me, Cockroach Boy."

"Oh," Spidey's arms start to slide away from around his neck. "If you insist..."

Johnny's elbows move from their position on the edge on the tub so he can cling to Spidey. "Don't you dare."

"Well, okay then," Spidey snickers, the asshole.

Their bodies brush together underwater, the texture of their skin almost slippery, as Spidey leans his head back to mouth at Johnny's jaw.

The situation is different from last night. Where Johnny's body tries to rise to the surface and slide against the ceramic, Spidey's powers grant him a stability no regular human could hope to gain in a full tub ; the sole of his feet stick against its floor and ground him as he presses himself against Johnny. Stuck against the tub wall, Johnny leans his arms on Spidey's shoulders and lets his legs float up to the vigilante's hips. They glide up to his waist naturally and he rests them here, enjoying each nip and brush from Spidey's lips against his face.

It's different, because last night they were both blind. Now, Johnny is the only one in the dark.

And yet, his blood is racing in excitement.

So when Spidey leans in to ask for permission in a murmur, Johnny gives him a fervent _yes_. Being stretched underwater is —an odd and not really pleasant sensation, to say the least, but the knowledge that these are Spidey's fingers inside of him surpasses any discomfort. A twist of them makes a rush of electricity fire through the nerves of his thighs, and one of his legs jerks up, sending a splash of water through the air. He blushes and slaps Spidey's shoulderblade when the latter lets out a surprised laugh at Johnny's reaction. Of course Spidey would be one to giggle during sex, he never, ever shuts up. Johnny doesn't even know why he is surprised.  
He wonders if it left a lingering smile on his face.

Johnny turns his head suddenly and smashes his lips against Spidey's, taking the vigilante aback if the muffled sound he makes is anything to go by. Yet he kisses back eagerly as Johnny nips at his mouth. Their tongues touch, sending a jolt down Johnny's spine, and they tangle languidly together until Johnny pulls back, sucking on Spidey's bottom lip.

"Hey," he says, breathless.

"Hey," Spidey greets back, soft and shaken.

Which is a bit absurd, considering the fact that he has not stopped scissoring him all this time, which is definitely less chaste than a kiss. He seems to realize this, too, because his chest is stuttering with mirth as he lays his forehead against Johnny's, wet bangs coming to tickle at the blond temple.

Yeah.

They are both a bit overwhelmed.

"Should be fine now," Johnny says after a short while, his eyes fluttering closed.

"You sure ?"

Johnny nods.

Then his eyes snap back open. His sight remain as black as before, but he is suddenly more lucid.

"Wait. You did put on lube, right ? And a condom ?"

Spidey pauses. "...Hold on."

He lets go of him and slips away as Johnny cracks up. "Are you serious ? You're the one who thought of buying them in the first place and then you just forget about it ?"

"Shut up, I got distracted by the bubbles," Spidey shouts back, exiting the tub to go fetch their convenience store purchase from the bedroom.

"Sure, the _bubbles_ distracted you," Johnny laughs in a bit of a daze, rubbing at his blindfold.

Footsteps coming back towards him. A tear. _Squiiirt_. "Won't this just dissolve into the water ?" Spidey mutters.

"Just put on a lot," Johnny suggests. Spidey hums in answer, which Johnny guesses means that he obliged.

"I'm not sure this is gonna work, like, logistically," Spidey admits as he slides back into the water besides Johnny. He lets out a pleased sigh. "So warm."

"So warm," he repeats into a whisper near Johnny's ear as he pins him into their previous position. The blond shudders in response and clutches tighter at Spidey.

"Let's test the logistics, then," Johnny quips shakily.

  
The logistics work just fine, they discover.

Unseeing, Johnny decides on simply sitting back and revel in the sensations, trusting Spidey not to let him slip away. The noises of the jacuzzi are not enough to drown out the sound of Spidey's lips against his skin as he leaves a trail of kisses on the column of his neck. Johnny tilts his head back to accommodate him, and his heart jumps as the vigilante slowly raise his body up through his grip on the back of his thighs, their chests so slick and running so hot against each other that for once Johnny wonders if it is possible for his own blood to boil.

Spidey shifts, and then he is lowering Johnny back slowly, penetrating him, and it dawns on Johnny that they've never been this close before, never this united. His voice blends into the sigh he can't repress, one that has more to do with the tingles in his ribcage that the pleasuring pressure of Spidey sheathing himself bit by bit, careful not to hurt him —always so careful with his strength around other human beings, as if he was afraid of them being so brittle that they would shatter if he didn't constantly hold back.

"You okay ?" he checks.

(Johnny does not have the heart to tell him that he feels himself falling apart around him anyway).

"Yeah, keep going," he answers in an exhale.

And Spidey does, until he is fully inside Johnny. He is trembling, too, and he takes a moment to tuck his chin on Johnny shoulder, as is he were hugging him without using his arms. Johnny uses the opportunity to pet his head and nape, soothing fingers running through wet bangs, rearranging them blindly. He feels Spidey's shoulders unwind as the vigilante chuckles softly.

"This is the moment you choose to tame my hair ?"

"What are you talking about," Johnny grins, "this is the best moment."

"It's hopeless," Spidey mumbles against the corner of Johnny's mouth as he turns to kiss it.

Johnny hums. "Won't keep me from trying."

Spidey nuzzles his cheek like a cat, and Johnny feels eyelashes brushing against his cheekbone. He wonders if Spidey has closed his eyes only to do this or if they've been like this for a while.

Then Spidey starts thrusting, and he stops thinking about it.

He can't do —and doesn't actually want to do— anything else than moan and cling tighter to Spidey as the latter seems to prod deeper inside of him with each of his movement. Johnny's back slides up and down against the tub wall, and Spidey had the forethought to place him against a jet nozzle sending out pressure massaging along his spine, but he barely registers it in the midst of all the other stimulations coming from the contact with Spidey's body alone. His hands have gone to Johnny's hips to find which angle will make Johnny quiver and clench more around him, and sometimes his nails start to dip into the flesh here before he remembers himself. His lips flutter alongside Johnny's neck and face, and his breathing is quickening, his chest rising fast against Johnny's. It can't be out of exertion, Johnny knows Spidey's stamina, and the thought that he is the only one responsible for this makes Johnny's arousal soar and his heart swell.

Soon Spidey appears unable to continue trailing kisses on him ; instead he has started mumbling his name repeatedly —Johnny's actual name, not some dumb nickname. It seems like the room is spinning around Johnny as he gives himself completely to Spidey's voice and touch.

"I—" Johnny can't choke out anything else as Spidey brushes again and again over just the right spot inside of him, the growing pressure almost as torturous as it is blissful, sending jolts of electricity in the veins of his lower body.

Butterflies of light are flashing across his eyelids ; Spidey moans into his ear, clutches at his waist ; microscopic bubbles are dancing around them, trying and failing to get in between their joined bodies ; one last thrust tears a cry out of Johnny, and he leaves scratches between Spidey's shoulderblades as pleasure overtakes him. Spidey comes a few seconds later with a shudder, his hands moving from Johnny's hips to cross over his back and embrace him.

Johnny is pretty sure every last nerves in his legs have burned. They are numb and hang uselessly around Spidey's waist as he recovers from his high, a pit in his stomach still boiling. With the typical slowness of bodies in motion through deep waters, Spidey moves them to the other end of the jacuzzi, which is shallow enough for them to sit in. The drift of water against Johnny is like a balm to his oversensitive skin. An odd thought crosses his lethargic mind —that the gracefulness of steps underwater is actually quite similar to the smooth, eerie way Spidey crawls on walls, as if he were merely skimming across them rather than clinging to them.

The _clap clap clap_ of water as Spidey shifts brings Johnny back to reality, sitting halfway across the vigilante's lap. Johnny tilts his head, trying to understand Spidey's odd movements.

He must notice his confusion, because he explains briefly : "Found the soap."

"Oh, nice." A pause. "Do we have shampoo ?"

A thoughtful hum. His arm brushes Johnny's nape as he reaches out. "Yep."

Johnny turns his whole body around to face Spidey and holds out a palm wordlessly. Spidey squirt out a small quantity of shampoo into his hand. Johnny's other arm finds Spidey's left shoulder and slides up his neck to get to the back of his head and pull it closer to him. Spidey's limply lets him maneuver his upper body as he wishes, and he lets out a sigh a contentment when Johnny starts shampooing him. Johnny massages his scalp until his fingers are buried in foam, feeling it stick to his own skin only to slide across the back of his hand and his wrists. He seizes the opportunity to twirl one of Spidey's lock around his index finger. When he lets go of him, Spidey dives underwater, only to emerge closer, dripping water all over Johnny's blindfold as he locks their lips into one more kiss.

Technically, Johnny doesn't need to wash off any grim ; he was able to flame on for a short while after eating, and that cleans him up better than any shower ever could.

It doesn't prevent Spidey from spending extra minutes caressing his body with soap —until no spot of him is left unexplored.

Afterwards, they stumble to the bed, Spidey holding both of his hands to guide him to the mattress. Spidey shivers at the shift of temperature and covers them both with the sheets ; the bed is a giant heaven of fluffiness, nothing alike the harsh discomfort of the previous night, and yet they find themselves in the same position, Johnny hovering above Spidey to make out with him leisurely. Spidey cups his cheek and kisses back softly, breathing him in, seeping on his heat.

His fingertips brush over Johnny's blindfold, and he pulls away.

"Is it uncomfortable to you ?" he asks, touching the piece of cloth carefully.

It's not exactly scratchy, but it tickles the bridge of Johnny's nose, and it's been on his face for far too long now. The knot pulls at a lock of his hair, and the silk keeps shifting each time he speaks.

"Not at all," Johnny says sincerely.

Spidey lingers on it for a moment still ; then, he murmurs an "Okay", but his hand doesn't move away.

"It bothers me, though," Spidey says eventually. "It rubs against my face when we kiss."

"Oh."

Spidey slips one finger beneath his blindfold, caressing the spot between Johnny's hairline and the outer corner of his eye. There is an incredible weight sitting between them, a sudden and unwelcome tension.

(To be honest, it had always been there ; it just had been brushed aside in favor of more important things, the stuff that really mattered.)

"So what shall we do ?" Spidey asks, shakily.

Johnny does not suggest to switch off the lights and close the blinds. He knows that it not the point.

"I don't know," he murmurs instead. "You decide."

Spidey remains silent, so Johnny adds :

"I'll keep kissing you either way. You know that, right ?"

Spidey gives a sharp intake of breath ; his finger twitches against Johnny's temple.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Spidey lets go of the blindfold to hug him, still sightless. Johnny's eyes flutter closed in acceptance as he inhales Spidey's scent, savoring it. Spidey has made his choice, then. Johnny is fine with it. It does not really matter, anyway ; not when he can physically feel the sheer relief Spidey exudes as he tries to blend his body into Johnny's, still warm from the bath yet always colder than the Torch, not when he clings to him so...

So...

This time Johnny is the one who takes Spidey apart. He has to listen carefully for his reactions (sometimes checking verbally, but failing to get more than wordless answers out of the vigilante) and to trust his instincts to figure out if what he's doing with his coated fingers feels good, whether he is kissing him right, if his touch is what Spidey seeks. Soon Johnny finds himself holding one of Spidey's leg against the mattress and entering him, straining for clues of either discomfort or satisfaction which come in the form of twitching muscles and fingers clutching at his arms and audible pants. He hooks an ankle on his shoulder as Johnny thrusts inside of him, effortlessly folding his flexible body to better accommodate him.  
And if Spidey's breath hitches too many times as he embraces him tighter, Johnny can pretend that he doesn't hear the wetness in it, leaving small comforts with his lips on salty soft skin. (In the bath, they could almost fool themselves in considering the blindfold as a kinky accessory ; now it feels like a barrier.)

"Faster," Spidey gasps, throwing his other leg around Johnny's back, and Johnny obliges. He mutters praises after praises as his belly ties into multiple knots, driving deep into the heat surrounding him ; a moan builds up into Spidey's throat, and Johnny takes hold of waist with one hand, losing track of the words sprouting out of his own lips like a litany.

Which explains why, as another wave of pleasure runs through him, he babbles without being able to stop himself.

"I love you."

Spidey lets out a loud sob at these words, and Johnny's whole being stutters with a rush of dread. Yet Spidey's body arches up, seeking friction, and Johnny goes back to the rhythm he'd established —quicker, even, as if it could drown out what had escaped him.

One of Spidey's palm is burning the center of Johnny's back with its sole presence, but the other goes to clutch in his hair. It slides down to cup his face with difficulty, shaky and nearly bruising as it moves with Johnny's thrusts. Spidey keeps on letting out choked noises, and it occurs only belatedly to Johnny that he may be trying to say something as the vigilante fumbles with the blindfold, until suddenly it is wrenched from Johnny's eyes.

Johnny has to blink multiple times as his sight adjusts to the light and the flushed face inches away from him, watching him with hooded hazel eyes framed by wet eyelashes. His lips are pink from stimulation, his expression wrecked with so many different emotions that Johnny can't identify them.

Their eyes barely get the time to meet before Johnny has to close his again, stiffening as an intense surge of pleasure flood through his system. His brain momentarily blanks out, simultaneously relieved and overwhelmed, for everything is suddenly _too much_, from Spidey's muscles tightening spasmodically around his softening member to his ragged breaths against Johnny's Adam's apple.

He pulls out —Spidey's ankle slips down from his neck to fall on the mattress— and throws his condom away, putting back the moment he has to look at Spidey's face for a few seconds. There is a wetness against his belly which indicates that Spidey came at some point, too, though Johnny cannot tell exactly when. He wipes at it with the sheet mechanically.

When he turns his head back to stare down, Spidey has already thrown an arm across his own eyes, chest heaving up and down.

But Johnny already recognized him.

"...Peter ?" he voices, uncertain. He doesn't even know what he is asking, exactly.

Spidey nods. His hair is still damp from the bath, a darker brown than usual.

It's been... years, since Johnny last saw him. He never interacted much with the photographer in the first place (or was he a science student ?). If they lined up the words they had exchanged face-to-face, they probably wouldn't even get half an hour of audio. But they'd never been _nice_ to each other, never had a hint of the chemistry Johnny instantly felt for Spider-Man, even when they'd had a prideful rivalry going on.

The hickeys from last night are fading.

Johnny nudges Peter's arm out of the way with his face as he latches onto his neck. He licks the pinkish skin there, right below his pulse, before he starts sucking on it. Peter grasps at Johnny's hair with both of his hands, a low, held-back moan vibrating against Johnny's lips and tongue. Johnny's teeth graze against the tendered skin and Peter lets out a restrained noise, thrilling some tired-out part of Johnny.

He pulls back only when the spot is purple and shiny with saliva, and they finally look at each other.

"Hey," Johnny says, again.

"Hey," Peter greets back, again.

* * *

During breakfast, Johnny has to deal with Sue's knowing glances all on his own since Peter has delved into a sciencey conversation with Reed (don't ask Johnny about the topic, he lost track about three seconds in) and, most importantly, is still protected by his mask. Johnny would wear sunglasses as a protective measure, but he feel like Russians might kill him on sight if he dares doing it indoors, especially in a first class hotel.

To sabotage all attempts at teasing, he nods at the new scarf around his sister's neck.

"When did you get this ? I thought you spent yesterday napping."

She takes a bite of her cottage cheese dumplings. "We changed our minds. It would have been a shame not to visit a little. There was this nice shop in a little side street, lovely, really, you would have loved it too."

"Oh. You could have texted us, we would have met up with you guys."

She gives him a _look_, and Ben, who had been listening sleepily, starts snickering.

"Didn't wanna crash yer honeymoon," his grumbly voice says into Johnny's ear. Next to them, Spidey and Reed continue to chatter on obliviously.

Wow. What a way to call them out.

The Quinjet is quicker than a regular plane ; by ten, they're flying over the ocean, and by noon, they're landing on the Baxter Building. They step out of it and stretch their sore muscles with relief (except for Reed, that elastic fucker), still feeling the numbness of five hours of travel. The air is crisp and cold, but it's a sunny winter day for once in New York.

"Home sweet home," Johnny exclaims, gazing at the skyscrapers. Fuck yeah. Colorful walls have nothing on huge gray towers and multiple windows reflecting the sun right into his pupils.

"Would you like to stay for a meal, Spidey ?" Sue suggests to Peter, who was checking his phone with rapt attention.

He raises his head to address her, putting the device back into a hidden pocket. "Nah. Thanks for the offer, but duty calls. You know how it is."

She looks slightly disappointed, but she does not push, spotting Ben handling her belongings out of the ship a bit too roughly for her tastes. Johnny does not have the same reservations, following Peter to the edge of the landing platform.

"The streets can handle one more hour of your absence," he tries.

"Can they ? Who knows, the next Nobel Peace Prize may get in a car crash in fifteen minutes if I'm not here to stop it."

Johnny gives himself a few seconds to absorb this statement.

"Wow. Really ?"

Peter shrugs, the lenses of his mask narrowing (probably with a rueful smile. Now that Johnny knows the face beneath the mask, he can't help picturing it). "I've been taking a break for long enough, traveling with you guys. I'm not gonna be nice company, knowing I should be out there."

Johnny knows there is no point in arguing with him. Besides, they've been together non-stop for three days, now ; it's not like he is Spidey-deprived. They have talked long into the night, until they were both too tired to form coherent sentences. They have said everything they absolutely needed to for now ; anything else can wait.

So he sighs. "Fine, if you're sure."

Peter must hear a note of negativity in his voice, because he turns to face him fully. He tilts his head on one side, considering him. Johnny can hear the voices of his family chatting behind him as they tend to the ship like background noise, focused on the vigilante as he is. He is so busy getting lost into white lenses that he doesn't see Peter's arm move until his gloved knuckles bump against the back of his hand. Peter tangles their fingers together and squeezes his hand.

"Me, too, you know," he says suddenly.

Johnny stares. "...huh ?"

Johnny has the distinct impression that Peter rolls his eyes at him. He lets go of his hand. "Oh, figure it out, Fireheart, it's not that hard," he grumbles. "Bye, guys !" he yells, throwing a jaunty wave followed by a _thwip!_ as he web-sling it out of here to the echo of three goodbyes.

"What," Johnny says blankly at the Spider-less spot.

He stays rooted to it for a while after Spidey has disappeared, swinging between buildings and out of sight, long enough for Ben to come up to him and lay a rough hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"What did Webs do ta break you ? Confess his undying love ?"

Johnny looks at Ben.

His eyes go wide as the scattered pieces of conversation —_(an embrace, damning words escaping his lips against his will, Spidey choking out incoherent noises, a blindfold falling on the pillow, me too, me too, me too)_— finally click together.

"Holy shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's a wrap, guys. Thank you for reading this ! If you enjoyed, please do leave a review, you have no idea how nice it is to read through them ^_^


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